


It Comes Creeping In

by Crossover_Critter



Series: HoodFlash [10]
Category: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad attempts at sexual humor, Barry Allen is The Flash, Barry Allen is a widower, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason in Gotham, Jason is kind of losing it, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of addiction, bad attempts at humor, cannon divergence: mid-RHATO annual 2, mentions of drug dealing, spoilers for RHATO 25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Critter/pseuds/Crossover_Critter
Summary: Jason returns to Gotham for a "business trip" -- just one more step in settling his affairs and getting the hell out for good.  Unfortunately, Gotham doesn't seem ready to let him go.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West (past), Barry Allen/Jason Todd
Series: HoodFlash [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828789
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	It Comes Creeping In

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as a prequel to, "A Hard Night's Day," (Part 9 of the series) telling the story of Jason's trip to Gotham (from which he's just returned the day before that story starts). But really, I see it as what happens on any of Jason's trips back to the city. 
> 
> Just a little more angst to round out the year, before things (hopefully) get better :)

_I miss you. – JP_

Jason had typed, deleted, and retyped the message at least a dozen times before he'd finally sent it, feeling like a small, lonely and afraid child on his first adventure at away camp as he'd tapped the icon.

Or at least what he _assumed_ such a child felt like; he's light on such personal experiences.

He'd then tossed the phone across the sofa, almost disgusted with himself for such weakness. Because, seriously, what is his problem? This is Gotham not Qurac, and his trip is only a week long not the rest of his life, and he's already four days in, and when the hell has he ever felt the need to actually reach out to anyone for something as insignificant as comfort? When has he missed companionship _?_

From several cushions away, he hears the mobile _buzz_ , and if anyone ever asks, he'll never admit to practically diving for it like it was the last .45 round on the planet and he finally had a chance to take down The Joker, hard, once and for all.

_I miss you, too. – BA_

Something so insignificant, and yet Jason feels the erratic beat of his heart steady perceptively. The shadows at the corners of the room seem to recede.

_Are you alright? – BA_

He's glad Barry can't hear the laugh that scrapes its way up his throat. It's a borderline hysterical thing that sounds more like a dying hyena singing out a dirge than a human utterance. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration, but running on scant hours of sleep and knowing his blood is more green than red at the moment, his perception is slightly skewed.

Four days he's been in Gotham. Ninety-six hours. He's spent most of that time surrounded by Suzie and her sisters and the familiar din of the casino he'd stolen out from under Penguin's clammy, flippered grasp – sights and sounds that were once almost soothing, but now are like a ticking clock in his ear and stick of dynamite in his gut.

_Fine – just bored. – JP_

He calls "bullshit" on himself as he replies. He woke up screaming last night, watching helplessly as Artemis and Bizarro disappeared into the black void of his bedroom ceiling. He practically jumped out of his skin as one of the hired guys – voice rough and gravely from too many cigarettes – came up behind him silently and asked about the new rosters and posts, flashing back to a rooftop at night and a boot coming at his face.

After just a small taste of Central City, his body can't handle Gotham. After being with Barry, his mind can't seem to understand why he's back here and alone again. It's like the antidote has corrupted his system, and instead of making him immune or resilient, it's made him completely incompatible.

He's acutely aware that the sun doesn't shine, the birds don't chirp, there are no trees waving bright and green in the breeze. There are just slate grey clouds, lung-choking smog, guano-colored pigeons, and puke-colored weeds growing in the cracks between broken sidewalk squares. And Jesus, if he doesn't find a way to control himself he might have to start writing fucking poetry to sooth his tortured mind.

Fuck, what is _wrong_ with him?

_I'm sorry. Trade you for a triple homicide? – BA_

Jason would have done a spit take if he'd had something to drink. It's only because he can feel Gotham oozing in his veins and creeping through his thoughts that he knows – or is at least fairly certain – that he isn't the perpetrator of said crimes. Still, he mentally double-checks his schedule from the day; that's how off-kilter he feels being back.

_Thanks, but I'm trying to cut back. Maybe just a double? – JP_

He manages a weak chuckle even though he's the only one that can hear it – pretends it's Barry's, as if he could magically transport his boyfriend hundreds of miles with just that sound. If The Pit was a living being, it would be raising an eyebrow and baring its teeth. As it is, he can hear the rumbling growl mocking him.

_Don't joke – that was yesterday. – BA_

He almost asks what time, but he knows he was in a marathon of meetings; there are literally a hundred sheets of paper with his (fake) signature on them to prove it. It wasn't him. He's still okay. He might be surrounded by guns and knives and detestable human beings, and maybe there are fewer of them today than yesterday, but he wasn't the one pulling the trigger.

He suddenly wonders if his mere presence in a room where people were playing "Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon: Assassin's Edition" counts as breaking his promise. The courts would probably consider it aiding and abetting, so probably. His stomach does its best to twist itself into a knot at the same time his blood turns to ice.

_I'm sorry. – JP_

He can literally feel his fucking heart climbing up his fucking throat as he imagines never being able to look Barry in the eye again. Never being able to _see_ Barry again.

He's had but a taste of a better life, and now he one-hundred-percent knows what Roy means when he says he's clinging to the wagon in white-knuckled fear afraid to fall off. His siren song isn't heroin, but it's still poison – acid green and deadly like a loaded gun. It's fucking holding the fucking gun, a silent invitation to finish what he started as it berates him for being lazy and selfish and worthless for daring to shirk his duty to the people of Gotham in favor of having a life of his own.

As if he hasn't done enough. Hasn't sacrificed enough.

_What are you wearing? – JP_

He's not even really thinking when he sends the message. Barry is at work. Barry is probably at a fucking crime scene. He probably thinks his boyfriend is fucking insane. That's what those three floating dots that appear, disappear, and reappear mean. But Jason needs a diversion, because the guard that just passed his door has a gun, and the news that's scrolling across the muted TV in the corner says a couple of dealers pushing at the local school escaped arrest last night, and you don't fucking deal to kids in The Narrows, but obviously his absence has made the scum more brazen, and Red Hood should really do something to rectify that before the problem becomes wide-spread, preferably something involving bullets and maiming and screaming...."

_0_o – BA_

_A lab coat. – BA_

There's a several-seconds-long break and then the dots reappear; Jason's already tapping out something completely NSFW, because if he doesn't do something with his hands he's going to blink and they'll be holding a .45 caliber firearm, likely of questionable provenance, probably missing a serial number, but most definitely carrying a full magazine plus one in the chamber.

_And pants. – BA_

_Sorry. – BA_

_:P – BA_

Jason's laugh sounds slightly less tortured this time – still chipped, but not completely broken. It bubbles out of his throat at the same time his _other_ mobile _dings_ an alert. Sliding it out of his pocket, he hits the button to illuminate the screen.

_re news: problem handled...new guy...sorry...wont happen again – SS_

The vice grip around Jason's lungs eases just a hair, allowing a shallow breath to escape.

_< 3 – JT_

Because yeah, despite the questionable grammar, he fucking loves Suzie right now. Probably another heart's worth. He adds a kissy face for good measure. She sends him back two middle fingers. His shoulders shake with a sob-chuckle. The guard can keep his gun. Red Hood can still retire.

His first phone _dings_ with a new alert.

_I've got to go – new call. – BA_

_Sorry :_( – BA_

_I'll see you soon. – BA_

A happy face follows – the one with the wide, bright white smile that stretches from side to side. Jason's lips attempt to mimic it; they probably don't get it quite right, but it's enough.

_I'll see you Thursday. – JP_

Because "soon" is too ambiguous. He'll be home Thursday. Just three more days. Seventy-two hours max. Considering the days and the nights look the same in Gotham, it's like no time at all. It'll all blur together.

He can do it.

Only seventy-one hours, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-nine seconds to go.

Fifty-eight.

Fifty-seven.

Fifty-six.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (almost) end of 2020! Thank you all for coming along on this ride with me -- your readership, comments, and kudos kind of mean the world to me and have been a much needed bright spot over these last few months. Stay safe out there, and may you all have a great 2021 :)


End file.
